Midnight Messages
by skintightjeansisateenagedream
Summary: Dave Karofsky begins scrolling through his Contact List trying o find a way to be brave. Bad summary sorry. Warning: use of swearing  only once. Not a Kurtofsky fic.


**Hello! This is my first fan fiction so please be nice**. **Did you like it? Did you not? What works? What doesn't? I may turn it into a chapter fic. Please review :)  
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Dave Karofsky sat on his bed quietly. His pale face was a near perfect mask. His eyes were the only part of his face that showed any emotion. They were wide, bloodshot and full of what was unmistakably fear. He picked up his phone. It was an old model- probably brought out a good five or ten years years ago- so had buttons and limited colours on its grainy screen.

He pressed the Menu button and gradually began scrolling through the contacts list. He had about fifty contacts, not that he really cared about any of them, apart from a few of his friends on the football team it was mostly the names of faceless drunk girls who he had made out with at parties and promised to call the next day. He never did, but he kept the numbers as if to say 'Look at me I have all these girls on my phone I can't possibly be a fa-' No, don't think that.

He eventually reached the name. The Name. He couldn't remember where he got it. He had probably stolen it from some drunk Cheerio's phone. Santana maybe or Brittany not Quinn she would never be that careless.

His thick stubby fingers hovered over the green phone-shaped button. It flashed mockingly at him, the steady on/off reminding him that nothing in his life was constant. Not even a fucking button. He remembered his hands grabbing small porcelain wrists and felt a little sick. He could do it. He could call. He could, he could, he could.

Karofsky gasped and threw his head into his sweaty hands in desperation. His nerve had failed him again. Just like every night. The phone lay discarded on the bed, a patch of light danced on the ceiling.

He had come so far in those last couple of month's. Since the first night. The one where he couldn't even be in the same room as the phone. That little box of wires and batteries which held his deepest secret. A while after that he had turned the phone on whilst he was alone in his room, attempting to test his own will-power. A week or so later he had begun his nightly ritual of scrolling casually through the Contact list making sure to stop well before the H's began. This night was the closest he had come to ever actually dialling the number and he had failed. He always failed when it came to this. When it came to The Name.

Dave sighed and walked over to his desk which was covered in French coursework. He would do it later he thought as he swept them off his laptop and pressed the blue start-up button. He waited until the familiar wallpaper (a picture of his favourite football team) had loaded properly and then clicked on the Internet Explorer icon. After a few seconds the Facebook homepage appeared on his screen. Fingers trembling he moved the mouse to the Search Bar and began to type a name. The Name.

When the profile finally loaded (Dave's computer was very slow) he felt like somebody had stabbed him in the gut with a blunt knife. The profile picture had changed since he last checked the page this morning. Just sixteen hours ago it had been a group photo of the McKinley High Glee Freaks after some performance. Sixteen hours were enough to change his life in a way that no-one would ever know. But now the picture was different. Now it was two boys. The first boy, the one closest to the camera, was looking at whoever was taking the picture and laughing, his beautiful eyes which could never decide if they were blue, green or grey were crinkled and shining with pure happiness. His pale cheeks were flushed slightly his hair was ruffled in a way that Dave had never seen it before. He looked more care free, more alive than e had in years. Dave hated that.

He was holding hands with the shorter second boy next to him. The other boy had dark hair coated in laborious amounts of gel and soft looking skin the colour of olives and sunshine. He had his muscular arm around the taller boys waist and was pressing a gentle kiss to his pale cheek. His eyes were closed but Dave thought that if they were open they would probably be a light greeny hazel, a small happy tear was leaking from one rounded corner.

It was the tear that did it. That made David Karofsky, shoe-in for a football scholarship, A's and B's student crack. He flung his laptop and French work across the room, scattering it over other various pieces of work that he hadn't been able to concentrate on. He walked over and punched a large hole in his wall and threw his phone his window screaming. Then he lay down on the floor and sobbed until his chest felt like it would burst open. He knew what he was feeling and it made him hate himself even more.

He hadn't know what would happen when he threw the phone. He hadn't realised that somehow it would end up pressing that mocking green button but as he heard the muted, tinny dialling tones he really couldn't bring himself to care all that much. Until he heard the voice that made him feel like someone had hit him with a truck.

' Helloooo this is Kurt Hummel speaking. I am probably out shopping or-'

But Dave never found out what else Kurt might be doing because then this happened:

'Hey there this is Blaine Warbler Kurt's unbelievably good looking boyfriend speaking so anyone calling to ask him out sorry but no can do!'

'Warbler you douche gimme my phone back!'

There was laughter and a cracking sound like the phone was being moved very fast.

'Ah but what will you give me in return young Hummel?'

'Give it back or I **will** tickle you to death!'

'No not death by tickle I- ARGH!'

The message cut off and there was an obnoxious beeping sound.

'I love you...' whispered Dave.


End file.
